


Confessions

by ShaedowCat (nomoreuturns)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Supernatural 1.18 Something WIcked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomoreuturns/pseuds/ShaedowCat
Summary: The aftermath of the flashbacks in 1.18Something Wicked.
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Originally posted to FanFiction.net on 30 June 2006, imported to AO3 on 21 February 2020**
> 
> A first review request fic for _Sparrow Lover_ on FF.net. The prompt was "younger fic...either Dean first looking out for Sam...or right after the Shtriga incident".
> 
> I picked the Shtriga incident.
> 
> This is a two-parter...I thought I could do it in one, but my muse slapped me upside the head and said it would be better in two. -:le sigh:-

It was ten thirty at night when someone started banging on his door.

Pastor Jim Murphy got up from crossword he was solving and headed to the door, pausing along the way to pick up a shotgun loaded with silver rounds he'd consecrated himself. Ten thirty was a little late for just a casual house-call, so whoever - or _what_ ever - was knocking on his door was either a fellow hunter, one of the things he hunted, or a fellow hunter pursued by something he hunted.

Honestly, he wasn't sure if he preferred the former or the latter.

He got to the door and undid the dead-lock and chain. He took a deep breath, then turned the key and opened the door...

...to reveal John Winchester standing on his doorstep.

Five-year-old Sam was clutching onto his hand and nine-year-old Dean was standing just behind him. As he looked closer, he noted that Sam looked like he was going to fall asleep any second, and Dean was as pale as a ghost. Jim frowned worriedly. Something wasn't right.

"John?" he asked, confused. The other man nodded grimly.

"Look, Jim, there's been an...incident. Can you look after the boys? I need to get back to Fort Douglas right away."

"Of course...how long will you be?"

"I don't know," John replied, and Jim nodded, understanding.

"Dad..." Dean began, then stopped and bit his lip. John glanced at him for a moment, expectantly. There was a pause, then...

"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered, his young voice cracking on the last word. John nodded tersely, his lips pressed together in a thin line, then he turned and headed out the door, all but running over to the Impala. He slid in behind the wheel, threw the car into gear, then tore out of the driveway, sending up a little spray of dirt in his wake. Jim watched him go, then shook his head and opened the door a little wider.

"Come in, boys, it's a bit cold out there." He held out a hand to Sam and the younger Winchester took it. He drew the boy inside, beckoning as he did so with his other hand for Dean to come in, too. The older boy followed silently, and after he crossed the threshold, Jim closed the door. He released Sam's and reached for the canister of salt that sat on the table beside the door; once the salt line was redone, he turned to look at his charges.

From the look of things, he'd been correct in his previous assumption: Sam was clearly close to sleep, and Dean looked...well, he looked _scared_. Jim paused as the realization hit him, surprised. He realized that he'd never seen Dean scared...not even when his father had been hurt on a hunt...worried, yes, but never scared.

 _First thing's first..._ "Come on, Sammy, why don't we get you to bed?" he suggested. Sam considered for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay," he said, then turned and trotted off up the stairs, headed for the small bedroom he and Dean always stayed in when they came here, dragging his bag behind him. Jim glanced at Dean.

"What about you?" he asked. Dean shook his head.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "No, I...I can't sleep."

"Okay," Jim said quietly. "How about you take a seat then? You can go to bed later." Dean hesitated for a long moment, clearly torn between settling his younger brother and leaving him, so Jim gave him a gentle shove towards the kitchen.

"Go on," he pressed. "I can put Sam to bed...you go get yourself something to eat and drink. You look like you could use some food." The boy stared at him for a moment, then nodded and padded off toward the kitchen.

Jim watched him go, then sighed and started off up the stairs after Sam.

-:-

"'Night, Pastor Jim," Sam called as Jim turned off the light. Jim gave him a smile.

"'Night, Sammy," he replied, relieved that the five-year-old was so willing to go to sleep. By the time he'd gotten upstairs, the youngest Winchester had already gotten into bed, and had demanded only one story before declaring himself ready for sleep. "Sweet dreams."

"Mm-hmmm..." was the only reply as the little boy drifted off, and Jim quietly closed the door before heading downstairs to deal with the older Winchester boy.

He entered the kitchen to find Dean sitting at the table, a glass of milk and an untouched cookie sitting in front of him. If Jim had needed any more convincing of the fact that something was wrong, this would have been it.

"Dean?" he asked. "What's wrong?" The nine-year-old raised his head.

"I almost got Sammy killed," he whispered. Jim swallowed at the look of grief on the boy's face, then nodded and sat down opposite him.

"Okay," he said, not bothering to contradict him. Years of hearing confessions had taught him to let the person in question talk it out, then try to offer absolution. "Why do you think so?"

Dean looked at him for a moment, then took a deep breath and glanced down, studying the table.

"Dad was hunting a shtriga," he began. "It was hurting kids in Fort Douglas...sucking their life force or whatever. Making them sick. Dad thought he was getting close to finding it, so two days ago he left me and Sam at the hotel while he went to get it."

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, then focused again on Dean. He thought he could see where this was going, but he let Dean tell him in his own words.

"Anyway...tonight I just...I needed to get out. I checked on Sam, and he was fine, so I locked the door and went to play a game. And when I came back..." He didn't finish, but Jim didn't need him to. A shtriga...Sam left alone, undoubtedly perfect prey...no wonder John had been so determined to go back...

"I shouldn't have left him," Dean whispered, interrupting his thoughts. "I shouldn't...but I was so _bored_...it was only for half an hour..." The nine-year-old buried his face in his arms. Jim sighed and reached over to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay..." he began, but Dean shook him off and lifted his head.

"No it's not! It was stupid, and dangerous, and I nearly got Sammy killed." His eyes widened slightly. "And what about all the other kids? Dad's gone after it, but what if it gets away? Oh, god..." He buried his face again in his arms with a groan that sounded perilously close to a sob.

Jim sighed again. By God, this child had had a rough day...rough few days. Too much worry and stress and responsibility laid on too slight shoulders.

"Why don't you go to bed, son?" he suggested quietly after a moment. Dean raised his head slightly, shook it determinedly.

"No, I need to stay up...Dad..."

"...might be a while," Jim interrupted. "He might not be back until tomorrow evening, and..." He hesitated, then pulled his trump, "...if you don't get some rest, how are you going to take care of Sammy?"

That did it. Immediately, Dean pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Okay," he murmured. Then, stronger: "Okay." He looked at Jim. "I think I'll go up to bed now, Pastor Jim." Jim nodded.

"All right. Good night, Dean."

"Good night, Pastor Jim."


	2. Chapter 2

Several hours later, Jim awoke to the soft strains of Johnny Cash. He glanced at the alarm clock: 6.00 am. He considered going back to sleep for another hour or so - he'd only gotten about six hours sleep, after all - but decided to get up once he remembered the reason for said lack-of-sleep: Dean and Sam were here.

He'd better get up, he realized, and hide all the cookies, lollipops, cereals...anything containing sugar. The last thing he needed was a hyperactive five-year-old on his hands. _In the storeroom, this time,_ he reminded himself as he pulled on his dressing-robe. The last time the Winchesters had graced his home with their presence, he'd hidden all the sugary things at the top of the pantry...which a four-year-old Sam had promptly scaled, before proceeding to eat an entire packet of chocolate cookies, a jar of molasses, and half a bar of nougat. Jim shuddered at the memory of the hyped-up four-year-old.

 _Never again,_ he thought fervently as he stepped out of the bedroom and headed down the hall. As he neared the room where Dean and Sam were sleeping he slowed, coming to a stop when he was right outside the door. Turning the door-knob, he gently pushed the door open and peeked inside.

Dean was asleep on his stomach, one arm curled around his pillow, his hand doubtless clutching the knife John had purchased for his last birthday. Sam was snugged up to his side, little hands clutched in Dean's shirt, his head resting on Dean's shoulder blade. Both boys were dead to the world.

Gingerly, Jim shut the door again. He'd let them rest a while longer...Dean especially. Turning, he continued his way back down the hall, heading downstairs.

He'd just walked into the kitchen when the purr of the Impala's engine entered his hearing, along with the crunch of gravel being crushed under the car's weight. The sound increased in volume as the car came closer and closer, then cut out completely as the engine was turned off. There was a faint creak as the driver's side door was opened, then again as it was closed, and then John's distinctive tread could be heard as the man circled the house, heading for the back door. Jim met him there, opening the door and allowing him entrance.

"How'd it go?" he asked. John sighed.

"Damn thing gave me the slip," he replied, his voice raspy with fatigue. "I looked for it everywhere...checked the sites of all the previous attacks, the motel where we were staying, the hospital..."

"Hospital?" Jim's brow furrowed in a frown.

"Yeah. All of the attacks were grouped around the Fort Douglas Community Hospital...I figured maybe the shtriga was using it as its base of operations...maybe acting as one of the patients."

"Any of the patients check-out last night?"

John gave a frustrated laugh. "As a matter of fact, yes...twenty of them. Ten were from out of state, and the other ten I checked out immediately. They were clean."

"So what happens now?" Jim queried. John shrugged.

"I'm not quite sure...I guess it depends on how much life-force the witch got. If she got enough, she'll probably go back to sleep for another seventeen years or so...if she didn't, she'll just move on to another town, and I'll hunt her down again." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "But I don't want to think about that now. Christ, I'm tired."

"Do you want some coffee?" Jim asked, ignoring the blasphemy...really, in the great scheme of things, it wouldn't count for much. John hesitated, then nodded.

"Yeah, sure...I'm just going to go up and check on the boys first. I just need to make sure they're okay."

Jim nodded then turned away to put the coffee on. He barely heard John leave the kitchen, and he didn't hear him at all as he walked up the stairs; even tired, the man moved with a hunter's quiet.

A few minutes later, John came back downstairs.

"They'll be up in a little bit," he stated as he sat down. Jim handed him a cup of coffee; he took it with a muttered "thanks" and gulped down half, ignoring the burn.

"And then the real fun will begin," Jim said lightly, sitting down opposite him. John cracked a tight smile.

"I'm not sure having the two of them tearing around this place at a hundred miles an hour should be termed as 'fun', Jim," he replied. Jim nodded.

There was a moment's silence.

"I shouldn't have left them," John whispered, and Jim noted the parallel between the man's words and his son's. "I shouldn't...but I had to go after the shtriga...that damn witch...it was only for a couple of days..."

"Three days," Jim corrected quietly. John nodded.

"...three days...and I've left them for longer, but...maybe Dean isn't old enough...I thought...I thought maybe he'd be able to look after Sammy..."

"He can, John," Jim reminded him. John sighed, gestured impatiently.

"Yes, I know he can. He looks after him just fine...it's just, maybe a few days at a time is too much responsibility for him."

"He _is_ only nine, John," the pastor pointed out. John grinned ruefully.

"Yeah. I know. I forget sometimes. He's just...he seems so much older." He sighed and dropped his face into his hands. "He's Mary's son, through-and-through...he takes after her so much..." he muttered. Jim nodded.

"He certainly does," he replied.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, John still with his head in his hands, Jim quietly drinking his coffee.

"I can't keep dragging them all over the place," John said finally, and Jim glanced at him. "I can't keep relying on Dean to look after Sammy...it's not fair to him. They should...I should let them stay somewhere safe, while I'm away, hunting." He looked up finally, his dark brown eyes meeting Jim's own. He shifted uncomfortably, and there was a long pause. "Do you think...would you mind..." he began awkwardly. Jim realized immediately what he was asking - trying to ask - and rescued him.

"If you and the boys are ever in the area, you know you're always welcome to drop by...and if you ever need to leave the boys here, while you're hunting, feel free to do that, too...you know I'm happy to keep an eye on them."

John nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Jim." He yawned and stretched; his spine gave a series of pops that made Jim wince. "Think I'll hit the sack...or the spare bed," he said when he'd finished, shooting a quick look of askance the pastor's way. Jim nodded.

"By all means...you know the way by now."

John gave him a quick, tired grin, then got to his feet and walked out of the kitchen, disappearing through the doorway that led to the living room, and beyond that the second guest room.

Jim looked after him for a long moment, thoughts of John and Dean and Sam and their way of life swirling through his head. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation he relegated the topic to the back of his mind, to be pondered at a later date, and relaxed back in his seat...then straightened as a familiar voice piped up behind him.

"Pastor Jim? Do you have any Lucky Charms?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...sorry if this was late, this site wouldn't let me upload this chapter, or the _Dean_ and _Sam_ ones... -:mumbles darkly:-
> 
> Anyhow, it's here now...Sparrow Lover, I hope you liked Pt 2!
> 
> Reviews are muchly appreciated...they'll be given a good home...
> 
> luv ShaedowCat xox : )


End file.
